


Find Me [Where the Wild Things Are]

by ainewrites



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, again i'm not so great at tagging, because that's apparently all i post on here, this is basically fluff and angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-18 19:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10623936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainewrites/pseuds/ainewrites
Summary: It's an agonizing sort of awkwardness, somewhere between anger and sadness, and they dance a careful dance, trying not to meet each other's eyes across the room.Erin wishes that the night before had never happened. Because this; this horrible, awful space between them, is far, far worse then the longing that there was before.-24 hours, alone in Holtz's apartment. Hidden feelings rising to the surface, misdirected anger, small spaces, all the fun stuff.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is somewhat inspired by that one Parks & Rec episode where they lock Ron and Leslie in the old offices until they make up; except instead of being twelve hours, it's twenty-four, and there are a lot more hidden (or not so hidden) romantic feelings.
> 
> This is also the first 'fic I've posted in this fandom that's not related to my other works somehow, so we'll see how this turns out!
> 
> I'm apparently back in my habit of writing late at night when I can't sleep (yay, anxiety), too, because like 99% of this was written between 11PM and 1AM last night/this morning, and I kind of can't really tell how it turned out. Good, I hope? 
> 
> Anyways, onwards!

It’s an odd sort of perfect, before it all goes wrong. They’ve had just enough alcohol to blur the edges of the world, still high off a successful bust, and they’re in their favorite bar. Music thuds overhead, loud, but the people inside are louder, so all you can hear is the thumping of the bass. It vibrates in Erin’s chest, uncomfortable yet pleasing, like listening to your favorite song just slightly too loud.

Holtzmann is beside her, squished in a tiny booth, meant only to fit one person, and she’s practically sitting in Erin’s lap. Somewhere, in the crowd, Erin can hear Patty’s laugh, and Abby is pretending she’s not having fun (she voted for a different, quieter bar, one without dancing and that’s not painfully loud), but she’s smiling.

And they’re together and Erin’s warm and comfortable, and Holtz is a friendly, heavy weight on her thigh. There’s a tingling feeling from where her leg touches Erin’s, and she’s not sure if it’s because her leg is going numb, or because of other, more hidden things. Holtz is laughing, low and throaty, and the sound causes an _ache_ in Erin’s chest and a _warmth_ low in her stomach, both pleasurable and painful.

Holtz turns to Erin, grinning, their noses inches apart, and Erin’s heart stutters. She leans forward until their noses are almost touching. “Want to dance?”

It takes Erin’s brain a moment to catch up, because her brain is circling _closeness_ and _Holtzmann_. But Holtz doesn’t wait for an actual answer, just takes Erin’s hand and drags her up, out, away from the table and from the safety of closeness, and out onto the danger that is the dance floor.

Erin loves to dance, but not at bars. She’s not the most comfortable dancing in front of other people, not the most comfortable being in a crowd, but Holtz…Holtz loves to dance anywhere and everywhere.

She attracts attention immediately, and suddenly there’s a girl. She’s beautiful, this girl; dark eyes and hair, curvy and beaming and clearly flirting with Holtz. And Erin recognizes, even as Holtz doesn’t stop dancing, that Holtz is flirting back, too.

And it hurts. It shouldn’t, but it does, and Erin slips away. She doesn’t want to go back to the booth, to Abby, who knows her well, too well, it feels like sometimes, so she lingers by the bar, sipping a glass of ginger beer because she doesn’t want to get drunk, and he shows up.

“Hello,” he says, leaning against the bar next to her. “Can I buy you a drink?”

And normally, Erin would say no. She knows the dangers, she’s heard the stories, but then she finds Holtz in the crowd, dancing with the girl, laughing and smiling and flirting, and so she says yes.

So, he buys her a drink. Then another. Then another.

He’s attractive, yes, handsome, even, but Erin privately thinks he looks like a model in a stock photo. Handsome, yes, but in a bland, uninteresting sort of way, the kind of person your eyes just kind of skip over. But she doesn’t care, because tipsy is turning to drunk, and she _hurts_ because Holtz and flirting.

And when he kisses her, she doesn’t push away. When he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer, she doesn’t wiggle out of his grasp.

It’s not a great kiss; it’s messy and wet and clumsy, but she’s too drunk to realize, too drunk to care, and still something in her chest hurts. It shouldn’t, it really shouldn’t, because she and Holtzmann are friends, just friends, and friends don’t fall in love with other friends.

Especially since Holtzmann would never, never fall for someone like Erin.

So she kisses this strange man in a bar on a Friday night, and she doesn’t know his name, and he doesn’t know hers, either. She just knows that he’s gripping her tightly and one hand is sliding down as he grasps her butt, and it’s uncomfortable in the tightness of his grip, but she doesn’t shove him away.

“Hey, Erin!” A hand grabs her elbow and pulls her away, and Erin looks up, panting, glaring, into Holtz’s eyes. She looks concerned, and the girl isn’t with her, but Erin can see her watching, her coat in her hands by the door. And Erin suddenly realizes that Holtz is wearing her coat, too.

“Erin, I think we should get you some water,” Holtz says, pulling her a bit further away from the man.

“Hey, blondie, mind your own business,” The man snaps, reaching out for Erin’s other arm. “She’s having fun.”

“Erin, you’re drunk,” Holtz says, ignoring the man. “I think maybe you should go sit with Abby.”

“Hey-“ The man says, and his arm closes around Erin’s elbow and Holtz gives him a glare so fierce that he raises his hands and backs off.

“Fine,” he says, then grumbles under his breath. “Fucking bitch.”

Erin turns on Holtz, angry. “Why did you do that?”

Holtz looks taken aback. “Erin, you’re drunk. He’s been buying you drinks for the last hour.”

“I’m not drunk,” Erin snaps, even as the floor sways beneath her. Holtz sighs, and grabs her elbow. “Come on, Er. I’ll take you home.”

Erin yanks away, even as the touch causes her blood to surge, even as something inside her head wants to pull Holtzmann closer. “I’m staying.”

Holtz doesn’t take that as an answer.

-

It’s a struggle, getting Erin outside. She’s stubborn, digging her heels in, Holtz manages to get her outside.

But as she does, she passes the girl. The beautiful girl, the flirting girl, who smiles understandingly when Holtz says she needs to take Erin home, who touches Holtz’s wrist and tells her it’s okay, that Holtz has her number, right?

And it bounces in Erin’s head, the touch, the smile, the tilt of this girl’s head and the way Holtz smiles. And she’s angry, so angry, at this girl, at Holtz, at herself.

“You’re shivering,” Holtz says, and Erin glares, because anger, and she is cold, she’s only in a floaty blouse, she didn’t think they would be standing outside in the cold October night. The jacket that settles around her shoulders smells like smoke and lavender and _Holtzmann,_ and it makes her ache.

They’re close, on this sidewalk, outside the wild bar, the never-stopping traffic of New York in front of them, and Erin is wearing Holtzmann’s coat and her anger is building and building and building, the alcohol a dangerous fuel.

Erin bumps Holtz’s shoulder. Holtz turns to look, and they’re nose to nose, inches apart, breathing. Erin can feel Holtz’s breath on her cheek, and she does something that sober Erin would never have done.

She leans forward, and kisses her.

She kisses Holtzmann, kisses her _hard_ , the ache in her chest growing, the heat in her gut building, and she kisses her like she has kissed no one else.

Holtz pushes her away.

Erin kisses her, and Holtz pushes her away.

“I can’t do this,” Holtz says, her hands on Erin’s arms, still holding her away. “I can’t…”

“Kiss me?” Erin challenges, cheeks hot, lips stinging, “Touch me?” Her voice gets low and dangerous, and she says it, harshly, angrily.

“ _Love me_?”

Holtz inhales, the sound ragged, and her eyes are growing red. “I can’t.”

Erin’s drunk, she knows this, this shouldn’t be a conversation she’s having right now, but she’s angry, she’s so angry, and Jillian is in front of her, eyes red and bloodshot.

So, she snaps. She does, and she knows that she’s going to regret this later, but she’s so, so angry.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be working together, then.”

The words are hard and sharp and cold, and Jillian takes a step back, eyes widening, shock in her face. Erin is panting, fists clenched, glaring. She expects Jillian to snap back, but instead she looks away. She backs up, and looks away, anger falling from her face.

“Yeah,” Jillian says, softly. “Maybe we should.”

And she’s gone. She doesn’t head back into the bar, she’s down the street and she’s gone.

-

“Are you going to tell me what happened last night?” Abby demands, setting a mug of coffee down in front of Erin unnecessarily roughly. Erin groans, pushing her head into her hands. Her head aches, throbbing behind her skull.

“Holtz didn’t come into work today,” Abby says, “Holtz never misses work. She even works when none of the rest of do.”

“I think I ruined something,” Erin says, miserably.

Abby’s eyebrows fly up. “What?”

“I…” Erin hesitates. There’s a sick feeling in her stomach, and she feels so, so guilty. She woke up feeling sick, because she ruined this, she ruined this thing she and Holtzmann have, and she’s kicking herself over everything.

Abby reaches for Erin’s hand. “Erin…”

“I kissed her,” Erin says, choking on the words. “And she pushed me away. She pushed me away. And she told me she can’t.”

“Can’t what? Kiss her.”

“Kiss me,” Erin echoes, softly. “Love me.”

“Erin,” Abby says, and trails off. “You need to talk to her.”

“I can’t.” Erin stares into her cup of coffee. “I already ruined stuff enough.”

Abby’s silent, for a long, long time.

-

They don’t tell Erin where they’re going. Patty just comes and gets her, and she drags herself downstairs. Abby and Patty are mostly silent, casting her worried glances in the rearview mirror, but Erin ignores them, staring out the window.

The apartment building is tall and narrow and old, and the elevator creaks menacingly as it climbs the floors. Abby marches confidently down the hall, knocking against door 1215.

It opens, and there’s Holtz. Her eyes widen, and Erin steps back with the rush of _guilt_ because Holtz looks awful. She’s pale, with dark circles beneath her eyes and her hair loose and unbrushed, instead of in its usual elaborate style.

Holtz doesn’t say anything. She just reaches the close the door.

It happens fast. Suddenly Patty’s shoving Erin in, through the door, into Holtz, and Abby’s yanking the door shut behind them with an ominous click.

“Abby!” Erin yells, panicked, scrabbling at the doorknob. It doesn’t turn, no matter how hard she tries. Holtz is beside her, looking equally panicked, elbowing her aside to try it herself.

“Y’all have some talking to do,” Patty says, her voice muffled through the door.

“We’ll come back tomorrow at 4,” Abby says. Erin spins around, looking for a clock, anywhere, somewhere, and her gaze settles on the microwave. It’s 4 right now. Twenty-four hours. They’re locking her in a tiny apartment with Holtz for twenty-four hours.

“Get talking,” Patty says, and from the satisfaction in her voice, Erin knows she’s the one that came up with this scheme. This grand idea, that currently makes Erin so anxious she can barely stand.

“Abby, please!” Erin says, pressing against the door, trying so, so hard not to look at the engineer next to her. “Please.”

There’s no answer.

-

Hour one.

Holtz’s apartment is small. A combination living room-kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom. Erin sits on the ancient couch and tries not to watch as Holtz goes about things. She does it silently. No music, no dancing, no laughter, the opposite of Holtz-of-Before, Holtz of yesterday afternoon, because Erin got drunk and stupid.

She sits on the couch, and watches even as she tries not to, and stews in guilt.

-

Hour three.

Dinner is ramen and soda. It shouldn’t be surprising, because Erin knows Holtz lives on takeout and sandwiches from the tiny delis that cluster this part of the city. But it is, because Holtz’s cupboards are all but empty, and she somehow thought she’d come in to find them stuffed.

Holtz keeps the cupboards at the firehouse stuffed. With candy and chips and Patty’s favorite cookies and Abby’s favorite popcorn and Erin’s favorite tea. But these are empty.

And Erin wonders why that is.

It’s awkward, it’s so, so awkward. It's an agonizing sort of awkwardness, somewhere between anger and sadness, and they dance a careful dance, trying not to meet each other's eyes across the room.

Erin wishes that the night before had never happened. Because this; this horrible, awful space between them, is far, far worse than the longing that there was before.

-

Hour eight.

They have barely spoken ten words to each other. At one point, Holtz gives Erin a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, piles blankets on the couch, and leaves, and Erin gets it. She’s sleeping on the couch tonight. She curls up under blankets that smell like Holtz, and it causes a strange sort of agony, one made of longing and guilt and aching desire for _more_.

She doesn’t know why she does this to herself. Holtz told her that she can’t touch her, can’t kiss her, can’t love her. And Erin’s never been one for unrequited love, it just always seemed messy and totally and utterly not worth it, but this, this is clinging on desperately, sinking its nails in, because it is love.

Erin loves Holtz. She’s barely known her four months, but she loves Holtz so much that it _hurts_.  

-

Hour ten.

She’s woken up by Holtz. There’s the soft thud of bare feet against the wooden floorboards, and Erin opens her eyes to darkness. She lies there, quietly, silently, listening, as Holtz pulls something from the fridge.

She sits at the table, and Erin can hear the chair creak. Her breaths have an odd sound to them, almost scratchy, almost stuttering, and it’s familiar to Erin for some reason, like she should know why that is.

She doesn’t know how long she lies there, debating, because she doesn’t want to make this worse, but she doesn’t think she could make it any worse.

She sits up. Holtz is haled in light from the window, the shadowy light of city nighttime, and when she’s turns, she’s only a dark outline.

“Erin?” Her voice catches, cracks. She sounds like she’s been crying.

“Yeah.” Even though she whispers, Erin’s voice sounds as loud as a cannon shot to her ears.

“I’m sorry,” Holtz says, still sounding choked. “I just…I can’t sleep.”

“It’s okay.”

They’re silent, on opposite sides of the room.

“Holtz? I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Holtz says, so softly, so, so softly.

“That I kissed you. I was drunk and I wasn’t thinking and I was angry. I saw you flirting with that other girl and I got angry. And I have no right to be angry.”

Holtz takes a deep breath, ragged and sharp. “I think…I think Patty and Abby are right. I think we need to talk.”  


Something inside Erin catches, causing a hitch in her breath. “Okay.”

-

Hour fourteen.

They’re sitting on opposite sides of the couch, not touching, no looking at each other, and it strikes Erin how little she knows about Holtz.

She knows how Holtz drinks her coffee and her favorite deli and her favorite coffee shop. She knows songs that Holtz can’t listen to without dancing, the ones she can’t listen to without singing along. She knows the way her head tilts when she’s thinking, the way her dimples flash when she’s happy, the way her nose scrunches when she laughs.

But she doesn’t really know Holtzmann. She knows that Holtz was practically disowned by her family, but she doesn’t know why. She knows that Holtz got accepted into MIT at age sixteen, but she doesn’t know why she decided to apply. She knows that Holtzmann shuts down every time someone tries to get her to talk about her past, but she doesn’t know the reason why.

She wants to know these things. She desperately, desperately wants to know these things. But she doesn’t ask. Instead, she waits for Holtz to tell.

 

-

Hour fifteen.

Holtz talks. And Erin learns.

She learns about extremely religious parents, about a childhood of homophobia and fear, of hiding and silence. She learns of scholarships and offers and a desperate, desperate desire to escape. She learns of friendless years, of time where the only person she trusted was her mentor.

She learns how Holtzmann met Abby, through a Craigslist add looking for a research partner. She learns of past and present and secrets, and even though it’s the last thing she wants to happen right now, Erin can feel the love growing.

Holtz is done, drained and exhausted, and they’re sitting in her dark apartment, and Erin reaches out and touches her shoulder. Holtz stiffens, and Erin yanks her hand away, looking down at her lap.

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” Holtz says. “I am.”

And she tells her why she said she couldn’t.

-

Hour seventeen.

Holtz bares her soul to Erin, that night, in the darkness. She tells of failed relationships, of abusive ones, of years of trying to make things work that just didn’t.

She says that she thinks something about her may be broken. She loves, she loves so much, so deeply, but her relationships never work. Because of her. There is something about Holtzmann that makes no relationship ever work.

She doesn’t want it to happen with Erin. Because it’s Erin, and when Erin kissed her last night, drunk and angry, on a street in front of a noisy bar, Holtz panicked.

Because she loves Erin, so, so much, and she doesn’t want this to end in flames.

And Erin apologizes. She didn’t ever intend for it to happen like this, and it was unfair to Holtz, unfair too raw emotions neither of them quite know how to deal with it. And they’re both crying, at one point, because they’re both people unlucky with love and life.

But it’s the words, whispered, by both of them.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

_Since I first met you, I loved you._

-

Hour twenty.

Erin waits, Erin waits for Holtz to kiss her, because she does not want to ruin this gentle thing, this delicate string of _more_ pulsing between them, doesn’t not want to feel it snap away.

And Holtz does kiss her, and when she does it’s soft, gentle, slowly growing deeper. Her hands are in Erin’s hair and Erin’s are at her back, and the first touch of fingers against the bare skin of her stomach makes Erin _burn._

-

Hour twenty-one.

Erin knows Holtz. She knows the way her head tilts when she’s thinking, the way her dimples flash when she’s happy, the way her nose scrunches when she’s laughing. And now she knows more intimate things, too.

She knows what Holtz’s lips taste like, the way she gives tiny, breathless gasps when Erin kisses her neck, the way she squirms when her lips brush over her stomach, the way she gasps her name when she dips between her legs.

 _Erin. Erin. Erin_.

Jillian shakes, silently, mouth open in a wordless gasp, thighs tightening, muscles twitching. And Erin comes up, kisses her softly.

Jillian’s fingers dip between Erin’s thighs, and it’s Erin’s turn to gasp, to feel her muscles turn to liquid, for her blood to turn to fire. She clutches at Jillian’s shoulder and gasps at the heat, gasps her name.

_Jillian. Jillian. Jillian._

Prayers directed at each other, names whispered in a quite reverence, neither of them quite believing that this is happening, that this is real and tangible and not a mistake.

Afterwards, they lie in bed, early afternoon sunlight streaming through open curtains, covered by nothing but blankets, and they’re not touching, not really. It’s not a tangle of limbs under blankets. It’s holding hands, gently, over the covers, fingers entwined, not grasping, not squeezing, just holding, softly.

It’s somehow so, so much more than their entire bodies pressed together.

-

Hour twenty-three.

They get up, they get dressed, because Abby and Patty are going to get there any minute, release them from this apartment. Erin’s dressed in Jillian’s clothes and curled on Jillian’s couch and Jillian is leaning against her, her weight warm and heavy and comfortable.

They are silent, still holding hands, not wanting to let go of each other, even as their hearts beat so hard that Erin assumes that Jillian can hear it.

Their hearts are beasts, clawing at their ribcages. Their hearts are wild things, reaching out, searching for each other.

-

Hour twenty-four.

They wait, in silence, speeches prepared, explanations to be made.

They haven’t put a label on it yet, but it’s been a few short, wonderful hours, and labels will come later.

For now, they’re Erin, they’re Jillian, Jillian and Erin, and they’re holding hands and waiting.

There are voices in the hallway. The lock clicks.

And the door swings open.

**Author's Note:**

> Because of course I'd give them a happy ending. Because I love these two dorks. 
> 
> Since I wrote this really quickly, I figured I'd post this before I post my next thing, which goes back into being connected to If We Go Down, Every Breath, and Something Beautiful. 
> 
> Love,  
> -Aine (AKA ainewrites, AKA the person formally known as CircularGallifreyan)


End file.
